These Faded Shades Of Grey
by cheapxperfume
Summary: Sequel to Black Balloon. At first she thought she was okay. But as routines started to shift and the pieces began to break, she realized she needed something to bring her back together again. He was just standing there watching and waiting for the right moment. ON PERMANENT HIATUS.
1. Relapse

**A/N: So this is the sequel. Tell me what you think by pressing that little Go button next to Submit Review.**

She's back again.

It's been the same every night for almost two weeks now. She comes in around eight and leaves at midnight. She orders one firewhisky, drinks it within ten minutes, and sits there with an empty bottle for the rest of the night. She never talks to anyone, never says a word. She just looks so utterly –

A horrendously loud belch interrupts my thoughts. One of the blokes at the bar smiles and burps again, apparently quite proud of himself. "'Nother rum, mate?"

I cast the girl another glance, sigh, and turn away. Duty calls. I raise an eyebrow at the belcher – his name is Laurence Starbright. He's about six feet tall, always needs a shave… and he's one of the regulars.

"You sure that's a good idea?" I ask him.

He waves a careless hand. "I'll Apparate home. No sweat."

I roll my eyes and give in. "All right, hang on."

If there's one thing I know about Laurence, it's that he's got more splinching horror stories than you've got fingers and toes. I dilute his alcohol with water, just to be safe.

Besides, he's so drunk now he'll never be able to tell the difference.

I slide Laurence's glass across the bar to him; he catches it while it's still moving and offers me a drunken salute. Several other men laugh, and I grin.

Now that Laurence is distracted with his alcohol, I'm free to watch the girl again. I wipe my hands on my pants (sanitary, I know) and lean back against the counter, just looking at her.

She has the potential to be beautiful, if she'd only take care of herself. Her dark hair is tangled and dull; her emerald eyes have a sad and lonesome appearance. The way her fingers grip the bottle, you'd think it was the only thing she had left in the world. As though everything else has deserted her.

Bloody hell. She's looking up – she's seen me staring!

Trying to fix things the only way I know how, I walk over to her isolated corner of the bar. Her gaze doesn't waver once. I smile nervously.

"Do you… do you want a drink?"

"No, I'm okay." Her voice is soft and careful.

"But…" I point stupidly at her firewhisky. "The bottle's empty."

She looks at me again. "I know."

That doesn't really leave me with much to say. I swallow hard. "Um. Right. Just let me know if you need anything."

She nods and smiles hesitantly. I'm about to turn away, but at the last second I spin around and ask her one more thing. "I'm sorry, but… what's your name?"

"Skylar. Skylar Clark."

x x x

Week three. She's here again. Same seat, same drink, same appearance. I don't speak to her again, and she doesn't initiate conversation either. Sometimes I wish she would.

About the middle of week four, however, a group of rowdy young men come into the bar. I hate it when these sorts of people show up: the type that demands at least three firewhiskies even though they can get drunk off one. Nobody else seems to like them either; after their second round of drinks, Laurence and his friends get up and leave the bar. The rest slip away one by one, until Skylar's the only person left. I hope for her sake they're too drunk to notice her.

But of course they do.

One of the loudest ones, a fellow with black hair and a thunderous laugh, sidles over to her, firewhisky still in hand.

"Hello, beautiful," he says, his mates egging him on from a couple seats away.

She nods, and she's trying to appear calm, I can tell. But the way she's spinning the bottle around in her hands gives her away.

Perhaps Loudmouth sees this as well, because he's not giving up just yet. "Can I buy you a drink?"

I'm putting down the towel I've been fiddling with and walking over, all set to tell him to shove off and leave her alone, when suddenly she speaks. Her voice is so quiet that we all lean in a bit to hear it.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, you can."

He whoops and his friends cheer and I groan under my breath.

"One firewhisky, mate!" the tall one shouts. Skylar smiles hesitantly as I bring it over to her, whispers a thank-you.

I just cross my fingers and hope she can hold her liquor well.

And she does. For the second bottle, anyway. But the third, and the fourth… they don't go as smoothly. She changes before my eyes. She goes from the quiet, soft-spoken girl that she's been for the past few weeks to a badly behaved teenager that nearly evacuates half of my bar with her raucous laughter.

I'm starting to get fed up, although I'm not sure if I'm more annoyed with her for accepting the alcohol or him for offering it in the first place. Either way, as the jokes get dirtier and the voices get louder, I find myself wishing that they'd just leave.

I guess you should be careful what you wish for.

By the time they stand up to go, they've had about five firewhiskies apiece. Everyone staggers to their feet and troops outside, presumably to Apparate home. And I'm fine with that. Really, I don't care if they splinch or not, as long as they get out of my bar. But then I see Loudmouth leading Skylar out by the hand. She's plainly drunk – her head's lolling to one side and hell, she can barely stand upright. But I'm guessing that was Loudmouth's plan all along, because a gigantic smirk is lighting up his face. Clearly he thinks he's going to get some action tonight.

And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's that smirk.

They're almost to the door when I grab Skylar by the wrist. Loudmouth jerks her other hand, glaring at me.

I don't even bother speaking to him. Instead I turn to her. "Skylar, what's going on?"

Her eyes are fogged with unfamiliarity. Or drunkenness. Or both.

"What are you doing?" Loudmouth asks me, obviously perturbed.

I round on him, deciding to wing it. "I think the question is what are _you_ doing with _my_ girlfriend?"

He shrinks back, his hand slipping off Skylar's wrist. "Oh, sorry mate. My fault."

"Yeah, it is."

He skulks out the door. "And don't bother coming round again!" I shout after him.

Skylar staggers into me, apparently oblivious to what just happened. "I don't feel s'good," she murmurs.

I look down at her, sighing. While I might have just saved her from Loudmouth, it now means I have to deal with her.

"Oy, Tommy!"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Think you could lock up for me?"

"Sure, boss."

"Thanks."

I feel a sudden weight against my chest and look down again to see she's more or less fallen asleep against me. I rub my eyes with the hand that's not crushed underneath her and sigh again. It's going to be a long night.

x x x

The good news is, she only throws up once. The bad news is I have to crack open my last jar of Mrs. Scower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover and scrub it out of my carpet while she passes out on my bed.

So of course I'm left with the ratty old couch.

I don't sleep too well. In fact, when she jerks into consciousness about eight hours later, I'm already up.

Skylar, on the other hand, is not as cheerful as I am. There are dark purple shadows under her eyes, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that she has a massive hangover.

"Ohhh," she moans, clutching her head in her hands.

"Do you want something for that?"

She nods wordlessly. I rifle through the cupboards in the kitchen until I find what I'm looking for – my trusty old hangover potion. I toss it over to her and she downs it in two gulps.

"Better?"

She grins shakily. "A bit."

I allow the girl a sympathetic smile before sitting down across from her and adopting my best business-like manner. "Now, Skylar. I've been watching you for about a month, and I think you need a job."

Her eyes darken. "Who asked you?"

I put up my hands. "Nobody. I'm just trying to help, honestly. I mean, after I saved your arse last night the least you could do is say thank-you."

The memories are obviously rushing back, and for a moment she looks guilty. I wait, but she doesn't say anything. Oh well.

"Back to what I was saying. I'm willing to let you work at my bar. I admit, the pay's not great, but considering you're usually there for at least four hours every night… I figure you might as well make yourself useful and earn a little money."

Skylar looks at me dubiously. "You're just going to give me a job?"

"Yeah, I am."

She doesn't respond right away, so I stand up and start heading toward the door. "In any case, I have to be at work right now – I'm actually late as it is. So you can come tonight and give me your answer."

"Wha – well – uh…" she splutters. Apparently my grand show of generosity has put her at a loss for words. Then, just as my hand grazes the doorknob, she bursts out with, "Who _are_ you?"

I look back at her and grin. "I'm Charlie, of course. Charlie Weasley."


	2. Endeavor

Charlie:

My mind's been elsewhere the whole day. People come in and out, but I find myself forgetting orders, forgetting faces… The first person just blurs into the next. I look at the clock embarrassingly often, waiting for eight o' clock to roll around, waiting for Skylar to come in with her answer…

She arrives fashionably late – 8:07 exactly. She's obviously freshened up a bit since the last time we talked; her hair is no longer a tangled disaster. The bags under her eyes have mysteriously disappeared, but nothing inside those green irises has changed. They still have that same sad look to them.

Skylar Clark walks right over to me and slams both hands down on the bar. "Yes," she says.

I pretend not to know what she's talking about. "Yes what?"

"I'll take your job," she tells me, simply radiating determination. "I'll work for you, Charlie Weasley. I'll make something of my life if it's the last thing I do."

Laurence, who's been here for about an hour, looks over sideways at her. "Interesting place to start, Miss," he says to her. "A bar."

x x x

Skylar:

Once I tell him I've accepted the job, this huge smile lights up Charlie's face. He gets all excited and completely abandons his post at the bar, saying he'll show me around.

I follow him, nearly crashing into a short, dark-haired bloke in the process. He catches me just in time.

"Hi," I say awkwardly as he gets me back on my feet. "I'm Skylar."

He shakes my hand excitedly. "I'm Tommy."

Charlie smiles. "You're going to be running into him a lot – hopefully not so literally, though. Tommy's my right-hand man."

Tommy grins shyly. "Aw, boss…"

"Shove it, Tom." Charlie's booming laughter fills the room for a moment, and then the tour continues.

There's not much to learn, really. Charlie shows me where all the drinks are and which one's which, that sort of thing. The entire tutorial takes about fifteen minutes.

"Now, go ahead and start your shift," he tells me.

"What? Already?"

"Sure, why not?" He leans against the doorframe, grinning. "I want to see how good you are."

"Um… all right." Bloody hell, he'll be scrutinizing me the whole time. Why don't I just quit now and save myself the humiliation? No, Skylar, that's your old pessimism shining through. You can do this.

I walk slowly and steadily behind the bar, determined to prove myself.

There are three people sitting there right now – all men. The one on the far right beckons me over to him, then juts out his hand and introduces himself.

"I'm Laurence. You'll be seeing me every night, and I usually want the same thing – rum."

"Okay, I'll get you that then." I come back with a bottle about sixty seconds later, and he hands over a Galleon and four Sickles without even being asked.

"Keep the change," he says with a half-smile.

I pocket the extra Sickle. "Thanks, Laurence." I think I'm going to like him.

The man in the middle is dark-haired and greasy; I'm reminded distinctly of my old Potions teacher, Snape. He demands brandy, which I hurriedly supply him with, and then scowls at me for absolutely no reason at all. I'm about to say something that could probably get me fired, but then I remember Charlie's watching and just move on to the last person with a sigh.

He's younger, maybe in his early twenties. His face is round and permanently cheerful. "Could you hold on a minute?" he asks me politely. "My girlfriend's in the bathroom and I don't know what she wants."

Right on cue, she saunters up and slides in next to him. She's a seemingly nice girl with short brown hair and a cute smile. "I'll have a butterbeer, please," she says.

"Make that two," he adds.

"Coming right up."

When I come back with their butterbeers, he's kissing her on the cheek. She giggles and says, "You missed," pulling his face back to hers.

Suddenly my head is throbbing. I brusquely slide their drinks across the bar and walk back, away. Back past Tommy, back past Charlie. Voices echo around me, but they're incoherent. My eyes are starting to tear.

Footsteps have followed me into the kitchen. I recognize the shoes, for some reason – scuffed leather attempting to be professional. That's got to be Charlie.

I alternate between sniffing and blinking, wiping furiously at my face.

"Skylar?" Charlie says tentatively. "What happened? You were on a roll."

Now I'm angry with myself. I've probably just screwed the only chance I had at a lasting job. "I'm sorry, I know. I can do it, Charlie, it was just…"

I trail off, but he doesn't say anything and I know he's waiting for me to finish. But how can I explain it? How can I tell him that ever since _he_ died, the littlest things have been setting me off? Things that remind me of him, usually – the colors yellow and black, smiling copper-haired youths, hand-written notes…

And then things that remind me of how we used to be, when we were together. Happy couples, hugging and kissing like there's no tomorrow – that's how we were. Except for us, there really wasn't a tomorrow. At least not for him.

I finally take my hands away from my face. "I'm sorry, Charlie," I say sadly. "You can fire me now, if you want. That was totally uncalled for, I –"

"Actually," he says, thoughtfully stroking his chin, "I don't think I'll be firing you."

"What?"

"At least not yet."

I'm a bit surprised, but I don't question it. I haven't been getting a lot of second chances lately, so I'm going to take every single one that's offered. "Thanks."

He gives me a gentle push. "Now go back out there and keep doing what you were doing. You're fine, Skylar. It's just been a long day for you."

"Yeah…" I say vaguely. And then suddenly I'm out of the kitchen, I'm back in the bar and there are five new people clamoring for drinks and Tommy's looking over at me helplessly and I realize that Charlie needs me here just as much as I need this job.

I grab a couple shot glasses and muster up what little confidence I have left. "Let's do this."

x x x

Aside from the one incident, my first night working at the bar ends up being a success. I collapse into my bed at one in the morning, and I sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks. Unfortunately I sleep in without meaning to, therefore arriving at my new job late.

Charlie waves it off. "No big deal," he tells me. "Just make sure that extra sleep reflects in your work."

We don't get quite so many people during the day, but as evening approaches the bar starts to fill up. Laurence is one of them. I get his rum without even being asked; he tips me two Sickles this time and I walk away with a smile.

The rush of people slows down to a trickle. Charlie starts washing glasses and invites me to help him while Tommy stays busy at the bar.

"So what's Laurence's story?" I ask. "Is there a reason he's here every night?"

Charlie stays quiet for a moment; he hands me a glass to dry. "His wife left him," he says. "Laurence used to bring her in sometimes before it happened; I saw it coming. She was always so…" He shakes his head. "She winked at me one too many times for it to be a joke. I wish I'd told him beforehand, maybe he would've been more prepared for when she left…" He looks down and sighs. "She ran off with some much younger guy. He was pretty messed up for a couple months. I had to cut him off some nights because I got so worried about him." He glances at the bar, where Laurence is sitting alone. "It's been almost a year, and you can tell he's remembering. Sometimes he pretends to be okay – he sits with his friends and laughs, but I know who he was before. I see through the act."

I look up too, following Charlie's gaze. Laurence is just staring off into space; his eyes are empty and void of emotion.

"Now is one of those nights he's not bothering to pretend," Charlie tells me softly.

I pick up another glass and vigorously begin drying. I know what I have to do now.

x x x

For the next few days, I slip back into observe mode. I used to do it all the time back when I was a student at Hogwarts, so I don't have too much trouble. Charlie lets me serve all the drinks. I make sure to keep my eyes open, waiting to see what I'm looking for.

One night passes. Two. Nothing. But on the third day, I see her.

She walks into the bar and time seems to stop. It's not the way she's dressed, because everything about her appearance could easily blend into the next person. No, it's not the way she looks. It's her aura. It starts something burning inside you. Her eyes are blue and intense. She's one of those rare people that can wake you up by just looking at you.

She's exactly what Laurence needs.

I watch her sit at the corner of the bar, tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and order a Gillywater. Tommy walks past me, about to get the drink, but I mutter in his ear that I'll take care of it.

I walk over with her Gillywater and slide it across to her. She tries to pay me but I wave her money away. "That man over there's already taken care of it," I tell her, gesturing at Laurence. I wink pointedly. "Maybe you should go talk to him."

She looks up at me in surprise. I watch the internal battle play out across her face. She'll be stepping outside her comfort zone… but then again, the man DID pay for her drink…

In the end, she ends up walking over and sitting down next to him. At first Laurence seems to be a bit confused; his wandering gaze falls on me and I mouth the words, "Play along." Apparently he gets the point.

Twenty minutes later, Charlie walks over to me. In a moment of slow business, I'm leaning back against the wall, watching Laurence and the woman in their full-fledged conversation. Laurence's hands move energetically; he's painting a vivid picture, telling a story. She laughs and I know she sees it too.

"Did you do that?" he asks in surprise.

"Yeah." I've never been more proud of myself. For a second I think maybe this is why I'm here. Maybe this is what I'm supposed to be doing with myself. Maybe it's not just about the job. Maybe this is all turning out to be something more.

Maybe I'll be okay after all.


	3. Apprehension

Skylar:

The Laurence incident leaves me in a happy afterglow for several days. I march into the bar on time every day (sometimes even a few minutes early), feeling like I can do anything. Charlie's proud of me, I can tell.

But this unbroken high is suddenly shattered when a little piece of my past comes moping through the door one night.

x x x

Charlie:

I'm rinsing out shot glasses when he comes in. It's eleven o'clock, and at first shock is the only thing that registers, because I can see he's just a kid, and I know the Hogwarts curfew is earlier than that. But his pale blonde hair and pointed, pureblood nose flash across my vision as well, and I subconsciously ball my fists as I realize who he is.

He's a Malfoy.

Draco, to be specific. I've heard Ron speak bitterly of him almost as many times as my father has spoken ill of Lucius. So naturally I'm suspicious. Especially since he's underage.

I go on washing the glasses, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye. My eyes follow Malfoy as he swaggers across the floor and sits right in front of Skylar. I see a shock of recognition in her eyes, and a sudden tension settles across her body.

Being a pureblood, of course, Malfoy doesn't even spare her a second glance. From across the room I see his lips form the word "firewhisky."

And then I see Skylar shake her head.

x x x

Skylar:

I know who he is the moment he walks into the room. One flash of his white-blonde hair and I'm transported back through time, almost exactly a year ago, to memories of a bouncing ferret and Cedric, laughing.

It was only when he asked for alcohol with that annoyingly condescending voice of his that I snap out of my reverie. Mostly because he's so blatantly underage, and he's practically flaunting that in my face. And I know where underage drinking can lead a person.

"Do you have ID?" I ask calmly, trying to keep my tone polite.

"No, but if you're any sort of witch, you'll know I'm a Malfoy." He pauses, apparently for dramatic effect. "And Malfoys usually get what they want."

I raise an eyebrow. And there's the most conceited thing I've ever heard. Without another word, I pour him a shot of Gillywater, sliding it across the bar to him and watching as he raises the glass to his lips, daring him to question it.

The moment it hits his tongue, he wants to spit it out – I can tell. But for some un-Malfoy reason, he gulps it down along with his pride.

"I dunno why I wanted firewhisky anyway," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "My dad drinks it."

A strange sensation flashes through me – could it possibly be sympathy? I bite my lip, debating whether to speak or not.

"You… you have something against your dad?" I ask hesitantly.

He glances scornfully at me. "Wouldn't you like to know."

I turn around and begin to rearrange some bottles, trying to seem preoccupied. "Honestly I don't care. Just curious, really."

He regards me suspiciously over his glass, not offering another word.

Draco tries to make it seem like the bar is beneath him, but he's back the following night.

"Another Gillywater?" I suggest as he strides through the door.

"Whatever." He shrugs carelessly. "I know I'm not going to get what I ask for."

"Nope," I reply cheerfully, giving him his drink.

Draco gives me a sullen glare in response, and that's all there is to it. This goes on for a few more nights – although he acts like it's no big deal, he keeps coming back for that Gillywater.

"Why d'ya put up with it, Skylar?" Charlie asks me as Draco saunters out after the third night.

I gave him a thoughtful look. "Because I know he needs someone to talk to," I say. "And sooner or later, he's going to speak up."

In the end, he doesn't crack – not exactly. But the next night, after he's had the usual Gillywater, he looks up at me.

"Hypothetically speaking," he says, "do you think… do you think someone could break the mold of a stereotype? And not be just like their… parent?"

"Is this about a friend of yours?"

He pauses. "Yes."

You're so transparent, I want to say. But I don't. "Who you are is your choice. That's really all I can tell you."

Draco's silent for a moment. Then, irrelevantly, he exclaims, "Hey! You're… you're Skylar Clark."

"Well, yeah. I am," I say, uncomfortable now that the conversation has turned to me.

"You graduated last year. I know a friend of yours, I think."

The satisfaction I got from assuring Draco is slowly starting to disappear. "You probably do."

"Maybe I'll mention you to him sometime." He stands up, smirking. "Goodnight, Miss Clark."

"Goodnight yourself." I watch him slip on his cloak and walk out.

Charlie practically materializes beside me, making me jump. "Are you alright? You seem tense."

"I'm fine," I tell him, trying to shake this strangely foreboding feeling. "I'm fine."

x x x

Charlie:

After that night, Malfoy doesn't come back. Skylar still seems worried, but I'm not sure why. I overheard the last part of their conversation – apparently Malfoy recognized her from school. But why would she be upset about that? Is she worried someone else from Hogwarts is going to come and find her here?

I only have to wonder about all this for a day. Idle chitchat fills our conversations – they are empty and pointless, and I can tell that she is preoccupied with something.

Then, that night, he comes.

I know it sounds cliché, but the atmosphere feels a thousand times heavier the moment he steps into the bar. My head snaps up right away, and I proceed to judge him by his appearance. Everything from his dark, messy hair to the very way his clothes hang on his skeletal body screams of something horribly, horribly wrong.

Of course, I see Skylar's face and all my assumptions are solidified.

"M-Marcus Flint," she stutters. "What're you doing here?"


	4. Return

**A/N: Merry (early) Christmas!**

Skylar:

He's back. One look at that cold, sneering face and all the horrible memories come crashing down on me.

People are still talking and laughing loudly, and I bite my lip as he saunters up to the bar. How can they just ignore him? That horrible beast that just appeared out of nowhere? How can they pretend like he's not even there?

He sits down, looks right at me and smirks. In that moment I know he still remembers everything that went down last year. Malfoy must have told him about our run-in; that's probably how he found me.

"One firewhisky, please." Flint says each syllable nice and slow, with careful emphasis. I turn around so he can't see my face and squeeze my eyes shut.

How _could_ he? It's obvious he's doing all this on purpose. From the moment he walked in, every move he's made has had an underlying meaning. He's torturing me with the memories of everything I did wrong last year. The drinking, drifting away from my best friend… and that one thing we did, me and Marcus Flint, that one night…

It happens so fast that I'm not even sure _I_ know what I'm doing. I snatch a random glass right out of Tommy's bewildered hands and throw the contents in Flint's face. The bar falls silent with the sounds of a splash and his yell.

"How dare you come back, after what happened last year!" I scream. He parts his sopping hair, staring at me in shock along with a good thirty other people. "After everything you did to me, Flint, after you bloody well ruined my seventh year – how dare you have the nerve to come here and show your ugly face!"

He stands up, his face contorted with rage. For one wild split-second, I think he's about to reach over the bar and strangle me.

And then I hear the footsteps.

x x x

Charlie:

Over the years, I've realized you don't have to have a crystal ball or bear the name Sybill Trelawney to predict trouble. That's why I stay alert after Marcus Flint walks into my bar.

And that's why as he speaks to her, as she turns around and closes her eyes, I can tell something is about to go wrong before it does.

I let the scene play out for a moment, watching from the back room. Skylar handles it well, I think. The drink she throws haphazardly in his face is a nice touch.

But then I see him stand and I know I have to act. I come bursting out of the back room in all my avenging-angel glory, striding over to the two of them.

"Is there a problem here?" I'm not sure why I even bother with that question. He was obviously five seconds away from attacking my employee.

"Yeah, there is!" Flint sputters before Skylar can even open her mouth. "This good-for-nothing girl just threw cheap whisky at me!"

I reach out my finger and catch a drop of the liquid that's sliding off the side of his face. I put my finger to my mouth and taste the whisky, prompting several giggles from onlookers.

"For your information," I say to him. "This is our very best single-malt whisky. It would've served you well not to insult it. But good job, you're on my bad side."

Flint opens his mouth to protest, but I keep talking. "And another thing. If you don't get out of here right this minute, I'll be forced to call a few… friends of mine. I don't think you want me to do that."

For a moment, he makes no move to leave, instead glaring hatefully at Skylar, who stares right back. Then I hear the scrape of a chair moving across the floor, and suddenly Laurence is standing beside me. A few other men follow his suit before Flint is finally intimidated. He casts one more spiteful glance in Skylar's direction, then proceeds to storm out with an ominous, "This isn't over yet."

Brief silence. A few people cheer. Then, as though nothing had happened, everyone returns to their drinks and conversations. The bar carries on as normal.

Well, almost normal.

x x x

Skylar:

Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave when he finally leaves. I return to serving, thinking I'm all right, but I'm proven wrong when I accidentally let a stack of glasses slip from my hand and crash to the floor, instant shards. I get a broom and try to sweep the mess up – it's then that I realize how horribly my hands are shaking.

Without speaking, I hand Tommy the broom and rush into the back room, on the verge of a breakdown. I find a secluded spot in the corner beside some empty barrels and curl up in a fetal position.

I was never supposed to see him again. He was a bad piece of my past that was supposed to fade away, like everything and (almost) everyone at Hogwarts had. I'd been trying to start a new life, not relive the old one.

Clump-clump-clump. Scuffed shoes again. Who else but Charlie?

"Sitting down on the job?" he asks, only half-joking. Smiling, he holds out a hand to me.

"H-hi, Charlie," I reply. "I'm sorry about before, it was out of line…" Wow. Déjà vu.

He frowns. "Actually, seems like the bloke deserved it. Right nasty fellow, the way he talked back to me." He's still holding out his hand, I notice, but I don't take it.

After a moment, he realizes this, and then he crouches down beside me. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," I sigh. I never even think when I answer a question like that anymore. To everyone else, I'm always 'fine.'

"No, you're not. You're not fine." Charlie's eyebrows furrow, creasing his forehead. "How did you two know each other?"

"We went to school together. He was a prick. End of story."

"Ah." It seems as though he's waiting for me to elaborate, but by now he's realized that I never do. So instead he just stands up again. "Look, Skylar, you can stay here if you want. But Tommy's out there alone and it's pretty full tonight." He puts on his pleading, puppy-dog face and offers his hand again. "Please?"

x x x

Charlie:

"All right, I suppose so," she groans. Her fingers clasp mine, warm and… tearstained? As she gets to her feet, I search her face for tears. Nothing. She must have wiped them away already, not wanting me to see them.

She smiles hesitantly and walks past me, toward the door, calling out for Tommy.

I wonder to myself how she got so good at pretending to be okay.

I keep a close eye on her for the rest of the night. Every move she makes is careful, restrained. Tommy is cautious whenever he comes near her, as though she could be broken with the slightest touch. I see how her face crumples when he acts that way. I can tell how she wants to be strong. Or, rather, how she wants people to_ think_ she's strong.

x x x

Skylar:

It's the way they act around me now that kills me. Tommy accidentally bumps into me while I'm reaching under the bar to grab a bottle, and the way he jumps back you'd think I'd whipped out a knife or something. I don't know whether he's more scared that I'll hurt him, or that he'll be the one hurting me.

Charlie, too. I don't think he's ever had such a troublesome employee. I see how he's watching me now – watching every single thing I do. Like he's expecting something else to happen. Like he's just waiting to rush over and be my savior.

The whole point of moving on, of starting over, was to help myself learn to stand alone. Now here I am, being scrutinized and watched over more than I ever have in my life. I don't want to rely on other people. I want to be able to do things myself.

I don't need anyone.

That's it. This is my last night. Tomorrow, I'm telling Charlie that it's over.

I'm leaving.


	5. Angels

**A/N: Sorry again for the delay! Slightly longer chapter today to make up for it. Not to mention it's one of my favorites so far. :)**

Skylar:

It's been exactly twenty hours and sixteen minutes since I made the decision to quit. I keep trying to work up the nerve to tell Charlie, but I can't seem to find the right moment. Every time the words start to crawl up my throat, he comes up and claps me on the shoulder and tells me for the thousandth time how well I handled yesterday. And after something like that I can't bring myself to crush that wonderful expression. Almost like he's proud of me.

And I'm finding it feels good when someone's proud of you.

It's a rare moment of slow business that night, and I'm leaning against the bar, attempting to rehearse my 'I quit' speech. Then someone coughs behind me.

I pivot on the spot, annoyed by the distraction but knowing I have to be civilized and smile, regardless.

The woman before me looks exactly like a toad.

Yes, a toad. Dressed head to foot in a disgusting shade of pink, but still a toad. I have the strange urge to laugh. She coughs again, even though she doesn't need to. I think she just enjoys the attention.

"I'd like some elf-made wine, please," she requests. Her voice sounds overdone and syrupy, like a cake with far too much tasteless pink frosting. "Year 1935."

I know for a fact we have about two bottles of the elf-made, since it's not a very popular drink. And neither is anywhere close to 1935.

But oh well. Pink Toad Lady doesn't seem like a person to cross. And I don't want to have a disagreement with anyone on my last day. So I pour her a glass of 1986 and hope she can't distinguish between the two.

I slide it over to her and walk away, all ready to help out a less toad-ish customer, when I hear that infuriating little cough again. I look over at her. "Yes?"

"I believe I asked for 1935," she tells me.

I spread my hands, knowing I've been caught. "We don't have any 1935."

She stands, barely able to see over the counter. I hide a smile. "I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, someone you might recognize from the Wizengamot, perhaps, or the teaching staff of Hogwarts. I demand 1935 elf-made wine, this instant."

I stare at her, perplexed. What am I supposed to do with this one?

"If you want, you can talk to the owner," I suggest. "He's probably in the back, I'll just go get him."

"Please," she says, throwing in one of those pert coughs for good measure.

I turn around, make eye contact with Tommy (who has taken notice of my plight), and pretend to vomit. He grins and points to the back room, wordlessly telling me where Charlie is.

I step in to see him standing there and taking inventory.

"Charlie?

He remains focused on his work, but still responds. "Yes, Skylar?"

I gulp. Now would be the perfect time to make my announcement. If I only had the guts.

Which I don't.

"Um, there's some Umbridge woman at the bar demanding 1935 elf-made wine. I told her we didn't have any, but… she wants to talk to you."

He looks up this time, but now he's grinning. "Did you say Umbridge?"

"Yeah, why?"

He laughs, putting down his clipboard. "She's the new Defense Against The Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. I hear a lot about her from my younger siblings."

"And none of it's good, I'm guessing?"

He smiles and walks out. "Nope."

I stand there in the doorway, watching him take over.

"What's the trouble, miss?"

She simpers, apparently pleased to be referred to as 'miss.' I can only see his back, but I can easily imagine his expression.

"I just wanted some elf-made wine."

"Looks like you had some there," he says, gesturing at the drained glass before her.

"Oh yes!" she says, as though she's only just noticing it. "I need a refill."

"Coming right up." And with that, Charlie sweeps the glass off the counter and hands it to me.

"She said 1935!" I whisper in his ear.

He steps back, grinning again. "I know. And I would expect nothing less from Dolores Umbridge."

He walks off to finish inventory, and I sneak another quick peek at the strange woman. She's sitting there innocently, twiddling her thumbs and occasionally coughing.

Devious.

I face forward again, focusing on pouring her refill. It's only a few seconds, but when I turn back around I nearly drop the glass in shock.

Dolores Umbridge is now flanked by two identical redheads.

"G'morning, Dolly –"

"G'night, rather –"

"We just noticed you sitting here, all by your lonesome –"

"Thought we'd pop over and join you."

'Dolly' is clearly just as surprised as me, except she recognizes them. Her eyes narrow. "What are you two doing here? Shouldn't you be in your dorms, asleep?"

"On the contrary, Dolly –"

"Curfew's not for another thirty minutes."

She's still looking for a reason to make them leave. "You can't be of drinking age, though! This is an abomination; I should inform your parents right this instant!"

The one on her right holds up a half-empty glass. "Only Gillywater for us, Dolly."

"We're strictly non-alcoholic."

The one on the left peeks into her glass, which she snatches away. "Not you, though. What is that, firewhisky?"

The other one shakes his head mockingly. "Shame, shame. On a school night, too."

Umbridge has clearly had enough. She throws a few Galleons on the counter, which the twins eye eagerly. "I must turn in for the night. There's much to be done tomorrow."

She casts them one more toady glare before making her dramatic exit.

They high-five each other as soon as the door slams shut behind her.

"Wow, you two, that was wonderfully handled," I say with a laugh, walking up to them. "Can I get you anything – on me?"

"Thanks, but we get everything free already."

"See, our brother –"

"Charlie Weasley –"

"He sort of owns this place."

"Tall, good-looking redhead –"

"But not quite as dashing as us – "

"Maybe you've seen him around?"

Before I can respond, one of them elbows the other and says, "No, look, George. There he is."

I look to my left and see Charlie standing beside me. He seems to be smiling a lot tonight. (All the more reason I should keep quitting to myself for now, right?)

"Skylar, I see you've had the privilege of meeting my brothers – Fred and George."

"Skylar, hmm?"

"Nice name, Skylar."

"Used to go to Hogwarts, didn't you?"

These blokes have good memory. I nod, realization flooding into me. "Of course, Fred and George! The prankster Weasley twins!"

"Aha, she remembers us."

"So you _did_ go to Hogwarts."

"Do you remember Charlie?"

"Charlie was quite the Quidditch player…"

I look sideways at my boss, a bit surprised. "Really?"

He looks a little hurt. "Did you never go to the Quidditch games?"

I think of Cedric. "Only whenever Hufflepuff played. We didn't exactly have a winning streak."

"Charlie was a Seeker –"

"Won all sorts of awards –"

"Really a smashing good addition to the Gryffindor team –"

"Though not quite up to our level of amazing, right, Fred?"

"Right, George."

Charlie interrupts their entertaining banter. "Did you two want more Gillywater?"

George – or maybe it's Fred – holds up his empty glass. "That'd be really corking, mate."

Charlie takes his glass and gestures for me to take the other. I follow him to the back to get a new bottle.

x x x

Charlie:

"Quidditch, huh?" Skylar asks as we scan the shelves.

"Yeah, Quidditch. I was sort of the star player."

I'm still a little shocked that she doesn't remember me. Now that I think about it, I'm sure I'd seen _her_ around Hogwarts in my last few years – always with that Diggory boy, the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain.

What sort of person had she been? Everyone went to Quidditch games. Everyone. Had she been an outcast of the complicated Hogwarts clique system? An outsider?

She's looking over at me again, plainly curious and maybe a bit regretful. She asks another question. "So, what else did you do at Hogwarts?"

We haven't talked about our pasts before. I'm curious as to where this could lead. "I was pretty into Care Of Magical Creatures. That class was what gave me the inspiration to study dragons in Romania."

"Dragons?!"

I laugh at her disbelief. "Yes, dragons. They're really not as frightening as everyone makes them out to be. As long as you know how to handle them."

"And when you don't?"

I push back my shirtsleeve to reveal my forearm, where there is a large, shiny burn. "This one's taking a while to heal."

She stares for a moment, awestruck, before returning to the Gillywater search. "Why did you leave Romania?"

There's a tense pause, in which I can see on her face that she's wondering if she asked too much. I answer anyway. "A… close friend of mine was killed in an accident with a newborn Peruvian Vipertooth."

She bites her lip. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have asked –"

"It's fine."

There's another length of silence, in which she uncharacteristically searches for something to say, instead of the other way around.

"Your brothers are great, you know. Really funny."

"Thanks, I've been told."

Silence again. Finally she sighs, turning fully to face me. "Charlie, there's something I have to tell you..."


	6. Lycanthrope

Charlie:

I have no idea what's coming. Skylar's been acting off the whole night, and now I guess I'll finally see what's behind it.

She takes a deep, steadying breath.

"I've been thinking about quitting –"

"Skylar, if this is because that thing that happened yesterday, I want you to know it won't ever happen again. I've banned him from the bar; if he comes back –"

She smiles, slightly. "Charlie, you didn't let me finish. I said I've been _thinking_ about it. And yeah, the Flint thing didn't help matters, but I just felt like I'd been letting you down more than helping you out."

"I don't care." The words come easily. "I understand you're going through a difficult time, Skylar. I'm not asking you to tell me why, because I don't think you're ready. But I want you to know that I'm giving you a chance. It doesn't matter to me what you do with that chance. I only want to help you."

She meets my eyes. "I know, and I'm so thankful, Charlie. You really don't know what it means to me. I don't think I could tell you. It's because of the fact that you took a chance on me when nobody else would that I'm staying on. I'm going to give it my best shot." She pauses, smiling. "And I'm not just saying that because we're in a bar."

She's staying. Skylar's staying. The tenseness leaves my body.

"I thought for a moment there that you were going to walk out and I was never going to see you again."

She looks at me for a moment, or at least I think she does, but then I realize her line of vision is actually somewhere over my left shoulder. "The Gillywater!"

She runs past me and grabs the bottle by the neck, smiling. "Finally your brothers can get their refill. Let's go."

And just like that, the emotional moment is over and we're back to the usual hum of routine and activity.

x x x

Skylar:

Yeah, so I ended up staying. At the moment I'm just trusting my gut instinct. Not to mention the fact that the look on Charlie's face if I quit would probably kill me.

It's been a little over twenty-four hours since I decided _not_ to quit. I'm quietly serving people at the bar, Tommy's in the back getting a refill of something, and Charlie's hovering somewhere between the two of us.

Then Remus Lupin sits down in front of me.

It's strange to see him away from school. I remembered him as being the best Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher I'd ever had, back in my sixth year. But then someone (supposedly Snape, big surprise) had outed him as a werewolf. I remembered thinking it was unfair and prejudiced, but at the same time it scared me a little – I mean, a _werewolf_.

Tonight that worry comes back multiplied, because I know that the full moon will soon be shining through the window.

"Hello," he says tiredly. He looks ten years older, not two. There are purplish bags beneath his bloodshot eyes, and his smile is as worn as the clothes on his back. "I'd like a butterbeer…" He stops, thinks. "Actually, something stronger. Firewhisky."

I always feel strange serving people firewhisky. My own experiences with that particular brand of alcohol in seventh year were none too pleasant, and resulted in a series of incidents that nearly cost me my best friend. Although I ended up losing him forever either way, but still… I always blame my drinking problem for the fact that Cedric's gone. Even though the two had nothing to do with each other. I can't help it.

I slide the bottle across the bar and he opens it immediately, gulping half of it in a few single swallows. I wince, imagining what he must be going through to need all that alcohol.

He hands me exact change – I can tell by his scruffy robes that he doesn't have much to spare. I quietly thank him, then take the money and pretend to be preoccupied with putting it away, although I'm really watching him out of the corner of my eye.

Lupin drinks a little more firewhisky, then takes a small vial of something from his pocket, glances meaningfully at the darkening sky, and pours the potion straight into his mouth.

I feel myself relax. The last thing I need right now is a werewolf rampaging through the bar. At least he's got that under control.

He sits there for the rest of the night, occasionally drinking, mostly watching. I go around serving others, chatting with Tommy, bothering Charlie about inventory. His eyes follow me throughout everything.

After several hours, he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry," he clears his throat. "You look familiar. Have we… have we met before?"

I look into his eyes, surprisingly clear for someone who's consumed two and a half bottles of firewhisky. "The year you taught at Hogwarts," I inform him with a tired smile. "I was a student."

He nods, realization flooding through him. "Right," he says, taking another sip from the bottle. "You and that Cedric Diggory."

A familiar pang shoots through me. I'm starting to think maybe he's the only reason anyone remembers me. So I'll have to deal with random people reminding me of Cedric for the rest of my life.

"You were a good student," he says. I wonder if he actually remembers or if he's making it up, thinking it'll take the vaguely depressed look off my face. "You made perfect marks on the werewolf exam, anyway," he adds bitterly.

I did. He really does remember. Now I feel sorry… and yet, curious.

"What's it like? Being a werewolf?"

He glances up at me, mildly surprised, and I quickly add, "Of course, you probably don't want to talk about it…"

He waves a hand carelessly. "No, honestly it's fine. I don't mind. Normally when people find out I'm a werewolf they start slowly backing away. It's nice to meet someone who's genuinely curious." He drains the bottle, but I notice with a slight feeling of relief that he doesn't ask for another one. I must be distracting him from his pain.

"It's hard. The prejudice, the agony of changing, always watching out for full moons… Sometimes I feel like I don't have a friend in the world." Somewhere along the line it registers that he might be pouring out too much information on a total stranger, but the sympathetic look on my face invites him to keep going. "And of course, romantic relationships are nearly impossible."

From the look on his face I can tell he's thinking of someone specific, so I don't press the topic. And yet he keeps going, as though he's talking more to himself than me.

"She's far too young for me. Thirteen years, that's a big difference. And yet she's so mature, and intelligent…" The bottle's halfway to his mouth before he remembers it's empty and sets it back down. "She's the strongest woman I've ever met. And so beautiful, no matter what day it is or what color she's changed her hair to. I just don't know if it would work out. I have no idea how she feels about me. And she probably has no idea that I'd give my life for hers. None at all."

On that slightly bittersweet note, he throws down some money on the bar and walks out, murmuring a thank-you as he goes. I pick up the coins and smile when I notice he managed to give me a one-Sickle tip. It means a lot coming from him.

I put the Knuts in my pocket, double-check to make sure the door has swung shut behind Lupin, then walk out from behind the bar and over to a secluded table in a shadowed corner, where a shockingly purple-haired figure sits waiting for me.

"Didn't you hear any of that, Tonks?" I whisper loudly, sitting down across from her. "Who else could he be talking about?"

"I'm telling you, Skylar, there's no way Remus Lupin would ever so much as consider a screw-up like me. He has to be talking about someone else."

Oh, Nymphadora Tonks. A few days after Charlie hired me, she accidentally tripped and spilled her red currant rum all over Laurence. I was promptly assigned to clean-up duty, and that was how we met. I'd ended up sitting with her and talking for a while. She's like me in a lot of ways – that's why it's so easy to tell her things. And of course, she feels the same way about talking to me. That's how I found out about her crush on Remus.

She wanted it to remain just that – a crush – but I'd already had a taste of matchmaking with Laurence and his new girlfriend. I wasn't about to stop there.

Now if only I could make Tonks see how clear it was that Remus reciprocated her feelings…

"He's just afraid of acting on it, Tonks," I insist. "He's afraid of telling you how he feels. That's why you have to make the first move!"

She scoffs, leaning back in her chair. "Right, Skylar, because that's such a good idea. Let me tell you exactly how that would go."

She stands up, concentrates for a moment, and suddenly her hair turns a slightly more mature shade of purple. She assumes a meek and innocent look. "Remus, can I talk to you about something?"

She pauses and jumps to the left, her hair shortening and becoming Remus's exact shade of greyish-brown. "Yes, Nymphadora, what is it?"

Purple again. "Well, um, Remus, sir, I mean – well, I kind of – um, I sort of love –"

Remus's turn. "Spit it out, Tonks!"

She changes back to normal Tonks and trips very dramatically over her own feet, crashing to the floor with a bang. Half the bar stares over at us.

"Ouch, I didn't actually mean to fall. I was just going to pretend." She stands up and dusts herself off, wincing. "But you get the picture."

"Tonks, it won't be like that at all! It'll be perfectly fine. And if you don't talk to him about it by tomorrow night, I'll do it myself."

Tonks stares at me, horrified. "Skylar! You wouldn't!"

I simply grin. "You have no idea…"


	7. Traitor

**A/N: So it took me exactly a month to get this out. Although February's the shortest month of the year, so technically it's not as bad as it could've been, right? :D ... Okay, so that was a lame attempt at making an excuse for lack of updates. All I can really do is say I'm sorry, and tell you that with spring break coming up maybe the next update will come a little sooner. Also a quick thank you to the people who continue to review; I love you eversomuch and you keep me going. The end. :)**

Charlie:

The next night, I can tell Skylar's up to something. It's got to do with that mischievous smile, I think. And she keeps glancing over to a corner table, at a girl with purple hair.

After a while I recognize the girl – Nymphadora Tonks. My parents know her. But what in Merlin's name could Skylar be doing that involves _her_?

x x x

Skylar:

It's an ingenious plan, really. I nearly spill it to Tonks every time I bring her a drink, but I know that it'll work best if I leave it a surprise to both of them.

Now I just have to wait for Remus – oh, he just walked in. Right on time, too!

He comes up to the bar and asks for a butterbeer. Good, he's not in one of those hopeless moods. This will work in my favor. I serve him his drink.

Here's where my plan comes into play.

I walk over to Tonks' table, smiling. It's making her nervous. She clearly remembers my threat from last night. Luckily, she didn't see Remus walk in.

"Hey, Tonks. I need you to help me out behind the bar for a couple minutes while I go ask Charlie something."

"Me? Can't you ask Tommy to do it?"

Tommy chose this moment to conveniently disappear. I had nothing to do with it, I swear.

"I don't know where he went."

She gives me another suspicious look, but sees no immediate danger, and sighs resignedly. "Fine."

I walk her up to the bar and promptly leave her as soon as she sees Remus sitting there with his butterbeer.

I watch the scene play out from the back room, hoping it doesn't backfire on me.

x x x

Charlie:

When I see Skylar scramble into the back room as I'm taking inventory (again), I instantly know that whatever evil plot she's been planning is being carried out at this moment. So of course I sneak up behind her to watch.

"Tonks?" A faded, vaguely familiar man is saying.

The purple-haired girl stares back at him, anxiety evident on her face. She's obviously not ready for this.

"Um. Hi, Remus."

He cracks a smile. "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you since the last… meeting. How've you been?"

"Good." She blinks.

It's getting awkward fast, and I don't think Remus is a skilled conversation-saver. Just as he's about to turn away and carry on with his drink, however, Tonks seems to remember something. And then she takes a chance.

She sits beside him.

He's a bit startled by this and sets the bottle back down. She folds her hands on the table; unfolds them; twiddles her thumbs.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, Remus," she says carefully.

At this point Skylar claps her hands together, a bright smile lighting up her face. Clearly she knows what's coming.

Remus is watching Tonks' expression, urging her to continue without actually saying a word.

She decides to take advantage of this and just throws it all out at once, before she loses her nerve.

"Remus-I've-loved-you-ever-since-we-first-met-and-I-tripped-over-your-scruffy-leather-shoes-and-looked-up-and-met-your-eyes-and-you-laughed-instead-of-getting-mad-like-everyone-else-always-did."

He blinks. She takes a deep breath and pales as he holds his silence.

And then he leans over, and kisses her on the cheek. She goes red, and as she does he starts to talk, gently mimicking her previous tone of voice.

"Tonks-I've-loved-you-ever-since-the-day-we-met-and-you-tripped-on-my-shoes-and-said-it-was-an-accident-even-though-the-moment-you-looked-up-I-knew-you'd-done-it-on-purpose."

Skylar claps her hand over her mouth; apparently overcome with how well everything worked out. I bite back my own smile and we slowly creep away, leaving Tonks and Remus to their own devices.

x x x

Skylar:

Charlie never brings up the Tonks/Remus situation. There's no need to, really; he was there, he saw it all happen. Neither of us stops smiling about it for a while.

A few slow days follow the incident. Some days Tommy doesn't even come; people just trickle in and out. Tonight's just another night like that, I guess; me and Charlie sit down at one of the tables and proceed to engage in a ferocious Exploding Snap tournament, in which he beats me seven times out of ten.

I've just challenged him to an eleventh round when someone suddenly barges unexpectedly through the door. I turn, slightly worried, half-wondering if I'll see Flint. Instead, a tall redhead meets my eyes. True, he does look a bit pompous and nerdy, but he must be a Weasley, right? Isn't that a good thing? I glance over at Charlie, who just stood up, waiting for him to run over and embrace his relative.

Things happen a bit differently than I expect. For one thing, Charlie's mouth tightens into one thin line, like it always does when he's angry. And for another thing, he walks right over to this new Weasley and punches him square in the face.

It happens in a cliché sort of slow motion, like all fistfights do. His fist lashing out; the other Weasley's head thrown back by the sheer force.

This fistfight's different, however, in that the other Weasley does not so much as raise a finger to defend himself. Instead, he pertly adjusts his spectacles, sniffs dramatically, wipes blood from his nose, and spitefully glares at Charlie.

"Now, now, Charles. Let's be civilized. We're both adults."

x x x

Charlie:

So yeah, I haven't actually been back to the Burrow very often since graduating Hogwarts. But I know enough. And Percy had that coming. I just wish he could've been a _real_ Weasley and given me a _real _fight. Right now I'd be better with my fists than with my words.

"What are you doing here, Percy?" I spit out.

He looks at me imploringly. Part of me knows that Skylar is watching intently, and she'll bombard me with questions later, but right now I just want to hear what this weasel has to say.

"Join me."

He sounds like Vold – uh, He Who Must Not Be Named – beckoning to his circle of Death Eaters. I stare.

"Join you in what?"

"The Ministry. Of Magic," he adds for emphasis, like I didn't know that already. I'm still lost. He shifts his weight impatiently.

"Charles," my brother continues, "You can't possibly believe what Dumbledore and that nutcase Potter are saying, can you? You Know Who is just as dormant as ever. They're obviously attempting to discredit the Ministry, and it isn't going to work."

I half-turn away, bored by his talk of politics. I went to Romania for a reason. "Percy, none of this has anything to do with me – "

"Look, Charlie," Percy interrupts. "I know Mum must've told you about the row I had with them. Dad's still supporting the old crackpot, and I can't have anymore of it. That's why I want you on my side. If there's one more Weasley brother against them, maybe we can make them see sense…"

I don't care if the Dark Lord's back or not, but if Dad believes it, I'll believe it. If Dad believes pigs can fly, so do I. That's just the way it works in the Weasley family.

Obviously Percy isn't actually related to me.

I look down. "Get out."

He's a bit more urgent now. "Charlie, please, listen – "

I gesture pointedly at the door. "Get out before I give you another black eye!"

Obviously remembering the punch, my so-called brother makes a hasty retreat without so much as a goodbye. Not that I was asking for one.

Suddenly out of breath and frustrated, I sit back down at me and Skylar's little table, hoping we can continue without a word and I can just take out my anger on Exploding Snap. It doesn't go like I planned.

"What's all this about You Know Who?" Skylar asks me quietly.

I look up, shock registering faintly when I see how pale she is. I slide my firewhisky across the table to her, hoping to bring the color back into her cheeks with alcohol, but she declines.

"What was he saying about You Know Who?" she repeats.

"Does it really matter?" I'm tired and frustrated and filled with rage against my brother and all other pompous redheads with glasses in the world. I'm not in any mood to discuss an evil psychopathic maniac with anyone.

Her voice, if possible, gets even quieter.

"Actually, it does." She takes a deep, shuddering breath, like the air's getting stuck in her lungs. "He's the reason my best friend is dead."


	8. Confrontation

Charlie:

I just blink at her for a moment, completely shocked.

"What?"

Skylar concentrates on shuffling her Exploding Snap cards, suddenly not wanting to say another word. I surprise myself by resting my hand on her nervous, twitching fingers. She looks up at me in surprise, pulling her hand away.

"Just talk to me. Just tell me what you're talking about."

She looks at me then, her lips twisting, opening and closing, like she wants to talk but she's not sure how to begin. Like she knows how she's been confusing me and leaving me hanging, with Marcus Flint and those random moments where she goes off and loses it.

I lean forward to catch her next words.

"Cedric Diggory," she says.

I don't say anything in response. A tear falls down her cheek. "Cedric," she whispers. And then all at once she falls apart.

x x x

Skylar:

I don't think I'm very coherent. I can't bear to tell him the whole story, not yet anyway. But I tell him what it was like that day I sat in the stands and watched the love of my life die in the Triwizard Tournament. The one thing that I'd somehow always known would happen.

Charlie sits there quietly and listens to me. He doesn't try to touch me again, but he listens, and that feels good. It feels like someone cares. Almost like someone understands.

And then I start to think maybe he could. Maybe he could be the one to finally get me. To finally understand me, after everything.

But I don't know if I'm even making sense right now.

When I tell him about Cedric's funeral I do something wrong to the Exploding Snap cards and they go flying everywhere. That brings our one-sided, ranting conversation to an abrupt stop. I sigh and get down on my knees, stretching out to bring them all into a pile. Charlie hesitates before kneeling down beside me.

"Skylar." He reaches out and brushes the hand that's on the cards. I stiffen. "I'm really, really sorry." I know he's looking at me, but I can't. I can't meet his eyes.

He takes another deep breath after thirty seconds, when he realizes I'm not going to look at him. "The truth is… the truth is I know how you feel. The same thing happened to me. Last year, in Romania – "

And he's all set to tell me the story, but at that moment the door bangs open.

I'm almost afraid to look up. My nerves are completely frazzled right now; I don't know how much more I can take tonight. But I can't help it. I look up.

And I wish I hadn't.

"_Mum_?"

I can't believe she's here. I can't bloody believe it. We haven't talked since the day after Cedric's funeral, when I went home to get all my stuff and leave for good.

I fall back, throwing my hands out to catch myself. _Why_ is she here?

x x x

Charlie:

I look from mother to daughter, feeling something similar to what Skylar must have felt watching me and Percy. Obviously these two have a history. Obviously they have things to discuss.

I don't think I should be here.

I gather as many of the cards as I can, trying to stand and make a graceful exit, but at the last second Skylar grabs my hand and jerks me back down. The look on her face… I don't know. She seems scared.

"Stay," she murmurs. And I do.

"I can't believe you're working here," snorts the high-heeled brunette. She looks a lot like Skylar, to be honest – the hair, the lips, the way she carries herself. Not the eyes, though. I guess Skylar has her dad's eyes.

She wraps her fur coat tighter around her shoulders and strides over to the two of us, still on the floor. Skylar moves her hand away from mine unthinkingly.

"Have you really been hiding here, this whole time?" She clucks her tongue. "Oh, darling. You know your father could have connected you with a job at the Ministry."

"I didn't want to work at the Ministry," Skylar responds sullenly from the floor.

"Then at the very least, something better than a _bar_." Somewhat contradicting herself, Mrs. Clark walks over behind the bar, grabs a glass, and pours herself a drink. Looks like sherry from where I'm sitting. She sips it, wrinkles her nose.

"And the drinks aren't even good." I guess it hasn't hit her yet that I own the place. Not that I'm going to say anything.

Obviously Skylar's just as lost as I am. "Mum… what are you doing here?"

She swivels in her heels, facing us. "I'll get right to the point, Skylar. Your father and I have decided you need to come home now. You had time to enjoy your lovely little piece of freedom, but truth be told you need help."

Skylar's fist clenches. "I'm fine, Mum."

Mrs. Clark appears to have a second thought and goes back behind the bar, this time for a glass of rum – the kind Laurence drinks. "I disagree, sweetheart. Ever since that boy of yours, Cedwick or whomever, died –"

She empties the glass again and searches for another bottle. She pours it. There's no doubt what this one is – firewhisky.

Something in Skylar seems to snap. She finally vaults to her feet, her face contorted. "His name was CEDRIC!"

A crash. Mrs. Clark must have dropped her glass.

I can only watch their faces. Shock. Rage. Skylar steps closer to her mother, clearly on the verge of something awful.

"I am _not_ going home with you tonight. I don't care what you or Dad or any stupid friend of yours has to say. I feel safe here; I feel more at home here than I ever did with you and your over-controlling ways. I belong for the first bloody time since I left Hogwarts, and you are not going to change that just because you think it's your decision to make." Skylar raises her chin defiantly. "It's not your choice anymore, Mum. It's mine."

Mrs. Clark purses her lips, clearly determined not to lose her cool. Although she does seem to be turning a bit purple; I move closer in case I need to break up a fight.

My worry ends up being misplaced, however, for after a momentary staring contest (which Skylar wins, I think), Mrs. Clark clickclickclicks her way past Skylar, past me, until she reaches the door. Then she pivots and spits out her last words.

"You know, Skylar, for all your talk of that Cedric boy and how much you loved him, you seem to have moved on pretty fast."

And she slams the door behind her.

x x x

Skylar:

For one crazy moment I feel like I'm about to pass out. I manage to grab a chair and fall into it before I hit the floor. Charlie snaps out of his reverie and rushes over to me.

"Get me something to drink," I demand, except the words come out breathless and faded, not strong and clear like I intended. I can't help it. Mum might as well have slapped me; her words always do the same amount of damage either way.

Charlie goes over to the bar and brings back water. I push it away. "No. Something stronger."

He gives me a worried look but doesn't hesitate, and I have a glass of whisky in my hand seconds later. Not firewhisky, though. Definitely not firewhisky.

I take a sip, then a deep breath. I notice Charlie's still holding the Exploding Snap cards. It makes me think of how normal this night was before pieces of our pasts blew into our lives. That hurts.

"Are you okay?" he breathes, as though he's afraid talking louder will break me. I hate that. Hate when people treat me like I'm so delicate. I'm _not_.

"Fine," I say, in a stronger voice this time. I feel as though the alcohol has brought me back a bit, made me more alive. It feels refreshing, this taste of artificial strength. But I need more.

I hold out the empty cup. "Bring me another glass."


	9. Recollect

Charlie:

I look down at the glass, then up into her eyes. What I see there scares me. "Skylar, I really don't think you should – "

She laughs. "What? Don't think I should drink more? Not even one more glass, Charlie? Come on. You run a bloody bar." She waves the cup under my nose.

"No, Skylar," I say, firmer this time. "You're drinking it for the wrong reasons. You're trying to escape your pain. I'm not really sure what just happened with you and your mum, but I think you should talk about it instead of trying to run away from it."

Again, she laughs, except louder and maybe even a little more maniacal. "Please, Charlie, I know what I'm doing. This is what I've always done. It helps. It gets easier with every glass you drink."

And then she holds out the cup again, but I know I'm not taking it.

x x x

Skylar:

I think I'm definitely close to losing it. And when Charlie refuses to give me more firewhisky, I nearly do. But I don't have enough strength.

So instead I just drop my cup purposefully on the floor, letting it smash, and then cross my arms sullenly.

Charlie brings a hand across his eyes, lets out a deep, labored sigh, and heads for the back, presumably to get a broom. I don't move.

He comes back a minute later, broom predictably in hand. Charlie likes to do things the non-magic way, I've noticed. Even now I see that, when I'm angry at him. I asked him why once. He said if you let the magic do everything for you, you'll end up putting on as much weight as Cornelius Fudge. That part made me laugh.

I snap out of the flashback when I realize he's talking to me.

"… part of life," he's saying. "I know, sometimes parents can be difficult, but – "

I exhale and interrupt. "Not like mine."

He falls silent again, and for a moment there's nothing but the quiet sounds of sweeping beneath my chair. As my half-cup of alcohol begins to wear off, I feel a bit bad for what I've done, but my pride has already been damaged too much for me to apologize. So I wait.

He gets all the pieces together in a pile, then finally gives in and uses the Levitating Charm to carry them over to a rubbish bin. Then he pulls up a chair and sits down across from me.

"Look, Skylar, I know you probably don't care, but I want to tell you about my own struggles. Maybe it'll take your mind off things."

"Whatever," I reply, looking at my nails with what I hope appears to be indifference.

He scoots a little closer, as though hoping he'll have my full attention. "I used to study dragons. In Romania."

I wait.

Charlie sighs. "A little less than a year ago… I was still there. I had just moved in with a friend of my dad, so I could study the Peruvian Vipertooth in its natural habitat."

He swallows. "The thing was, Dad never mentioned that his friend had a daughter."

_This _is the part that catches me by surprise. My head snaps up.

Charlie's oblivious, though. He just stares at the same spot on the wall, somewhere behind me, and keeps on talking. "God, she was so pretty. Not normal pretty though. Some wild, uncontrollable type of beautiful. She could make your heart melt."

I can't help myself. "What was her name?"

"Kathleen." The name rolls off his tongue like a word in another language. "Kath."

x x x

Charlie:

And suddenly the whole story is pouring out.

"We met the night I moved in. I was just walking upstairs when I caught her sneaking in through the window. She'd been out late, and she told me if I didn't tell her dad about catching her, I'd get to go with her the next day. I thought she'd gone to a party or something, and I didn't care for those, so at first I was unimpressed. But then the next night came. And she took me to the dragons."

"Dragons?"

"I'd only been tracking a little group of three, but in the place she took me there were at least a couple dozen. It was perfect. They were all just sitting around, natural and alive and not cooped up and constantly observed.

"Kath told me that dragons were her passion, but her dad didn't want her to study them like he did because he said it was 'too dangerous for a young girl.'" I chuckle in spite of myself. "Kath wasn't young though. Not really. She was smarter than anyone I'd ever known.

"Living in the same house, we started to get used to each other. After a month I knew her better than I'd ever known my brother, Percy." I glance at Skylar. "You met him." She nods. "And every night we were sneaking out to watch the dragons. It was wonderful, and I thought nothing could go wrong.

"But then one night we made a mistake. We were just sitting in our usual spot, talking, until one of us laughed too loud. And one of the dragons heard us. Just our luck – it was a newborn, an unusually big one. We tried to get to our feet and run off as it started charging us, but I slipped, so Kath stopped to help me, and…"

"Oh Charlie." Her indifferent façade has finally slipped, but I'm too caught up to remember that was my goal.

"It got her with one of its fangs, which, since we'd spent so long studying them," I continue bitterly, "we knew them to be almost as fatal as the Norwegian Ridgeback. So… I didn't have that long to say goodbye."

"Charlie…" she says again, trying to reach out but then pulling back, like she's afraid of what I'll do. I shake my head, trying to tell her that it's okay. At least I think it is.

"In that moment, there was everything to say and not enough time to say it. It had only been a month, but I felt like I'd known her my whole life, and I felt like… I didn't even know how to tell her, I didn't know what to say, I'd been hoping to have forever to plan this out and suddenly time was in my face, not giving me the chance." I choke without meaning to. "So I just kissed her."

It feels vaguely strange telling Skylar this whole story, but I'd known I wouldn't be able to stop once I started. So it's sort of like I can trust her. I feel like she understands. "I kissed her," I say again. "And then she kind of smiled, and told me I was her first kiss… and then she just..."

"Merlin, Charlie, I… I'm sorry."

"It's fine." But now she's holding open her arms, and I'm falling into them (or maybe she's falling into mine), but I'm not crying, because I never cried about it, about Kath's death I mean, and Weasleys don't cry.

x x x

Skylar:

It ends up being a late night. Neither of us wants to go home; and I'm kind of afraid to leave Charlie alone. So we sleep in the back room – not together, of course. Turns out he has a couple cots stored there, so we just pull them out and I spend the night with a couple hundred bottles of alcohol.

The next day, I find out firsthand that Charlie wakes up at the crack of down. He tries to stay quiet, so he doesn't wake me, but it doesn't really work. My eyes open a crack and I see him sit up and tousle his red hair, trying to make it lay flat (which doesn't work either). Then he stands up and leaves, with one backward glance at me.

I shut my eyes tight so he can't tell that I've been watching and fall back asleep for another couple hours.

When I finally get up later, Charlie's making an order on what I'm shocked to see is a Muggle telephone. He looks up when I walk out, smiles, and holds up a finger. I nod and wait.

A minute later he hangs up and walks over to me from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel and predictably smiling.

"Morning, Skylar."

"I guess."

"Hey, I'm sorry – "

"Charlie, you really don't have to apologize for anything. I swear it's okay."

"I feel bad, though. I mean, it was a long night. I was tired. Not that it's an excuse, but – "

"Sometimes you just have to talk, Charlie. I understand, honest."

He stops trying to explain himself and just looks at me, a half-smile creeping onto his face. "Somehow I knew you'd get it."

"We all have horror stories," I say, thinking back to everything that happened last night, and my seventh year of Hogwarts, and everything in between.

"I guess we do."


	10. Again

**A/N: It's weird writing about Christmastime on Easter. Oh well. I figured an early update would be a nice holiday gift. Enjoy. :)**

Skylar:

After all the openness between Charlie and me that night, I'd been afraid that awkwardness would ensue in the days that followed. But for some reason, it doesn't. We don't talk about the conversation we had, but in some moments, he looks at me and I look at him and we both kind of know what the other is thinking. And then we both smile, like we're sharing a mutual secret. Which, in a way, we are.

Meanwhile, business at the bar is booming. Holidays are drawing ever nearer, and people are breezing in and out constantly, bringing relatives and talking of visits and presents and plans. I love everything about the Christmas atmosphere – the scarves and gloves, the rosy-cheeked students on vacation, even the snow that often blows in when someone keeps the door open too long. Actually, I think the snow is my favorite part – mostly because it drives Charlie crazy. The snow melts onto the floor, and of course he has to go and mop it up himself, because Tommy and I tend to be busy. And whenever he forgets, almost every time, someone trips.

On this particular night, it's Laurence.

He's walking in with his girlfriend (the same girl I'd hooked him up with at the start of my job, I'm pleased to say). They're locked in an intense discussion – probably something about him inviting his parents to meet her this Christmas, since they can talk of little else lately. Charlie's serving someone a drink while Tommy gets a bottle from the back, and he doesn't even notice the puddle. Not until Laurence slips and lands on his arse with an almighty crash. The bar goes dead quiet.

Charlie rushes over immediately with his trusty mop, muttering apologies as he wipes up the mess. Laurence stays on his rear for a moment, shocked. Then, to everyone's surprise, he booms with laughter. We all relax.

If it wasn't for Charlie forgetting, if it wasn't for Laurence falling, Charlie probably would've served _her_ that night. He would've cheerily handed over her elderflower wine, collected the scattered Sickles and Knuts, and moved on without giving her a second glance.

But the point is that he doesn't remember, that actually he forgets and Laurence falls and I am the only one standing behind the bar when Cho Chang walks in.

I see her, and the moment I see her I try to look away. But I can't help it. The vision of her, of her tight face and almond eyes, the snow blowing in around those familiar dark locks, is burned into my retinas. I glance up again as she walks over, thinking maybe she won't recognize me.

At first she doesn't. She orders her wine and sits in silence without looking up and I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, I can get away with this.

But as she hands over the money, she glances into my face. And a strange look comes over here.

"Dear Merlin. Skylar Clark."

And then more memories are flooding back, whether I want them to or not. The last time I spoke to her: Seventh year. After she cheated on Cedric, and he left her for me. We were in the library, and I got to watch Roger Davies, the guy who'd help her cheat, reject her for Romilda Vane. At the time it had felt wonderful, taking my revenge on her for the year of hell she'd put me through. Now it just made me sick.

The last time I'd seen her: Crying, the day Cedric died.

That memory comes unbidden, and I am in no way prepared for it. I turn away from her quickly, hoping she won't say anything else, because I'm not ready for it. But she's not finished.

"Skylar Clark," she repeats, slowly. "The girl who stole my boyfriend."

I maintain my silence, though I fear my true feelings are being given away by the way my nails dig into the tender flesh of my palms.

"Skylar Clark. One of the last people Cedric talked to. Not that she deserved it."

I am almost completely sure that she's trying to get a reaction out of me now. But I won't give her the satisfaction. I won't respond.

"Skylar Clark. Too bad he had to be with _her_ before he died, when he could've had me."

That breaks everything. I spin round to face her, anger coursing through my veins like poison. "Cho bloody Chang. YOU _CHEATED_ ON HIM!!"

If the bar was quiet before, when Laurence fell, it's silent as a grave now. I vaguely feel all eyes on me, but I'm too furious to care. Some of the rage I had left against my mother has carried over to this moment. Part of me feels sorry that Cho has to be the person I release this on, and the rest of me thinks she deserves it.

"Roger Davies. For the love of Merlin, Chang, he wasn't even that good at Quidditch. What could you see in him? What could you possibly see in him to make you choose him over Cedric? Cedric Diggory, the one good thing about Hogwarts. Cedric, the Triwizard Champion. Cedric, who was brave and honest and true and everything right in the world and _my best friend_." I'm almost too angry to cry. If I could, I think my tears would be white hot. "You didn't deserve the year you got with him, in a real relationship. I barely got a month."

She opens her mouth, but I'm not finished. "How does it feel, Chang? How does it feel, to know that I was the last person to kiss him, to be held in his arms?" My voice rises a notch higher. I'm taunting her now; I know it. "Do you wish it could've been you? Well, it wasn't, and I'll tell you why. You never deserved him. He was too good for you. Oh, and you cheated on him with _Roger Davies_."

Maybe I'm not crying, but she definitely is now. She stands up and runs to the bathroom, a faint sob hanging in the air as she leaves.

The occupants don't go back to talking though. It's different than when Laurence fell. Nobody laughs. In fact, I realize some of them are glaring at me, and Tommy has re-entered the room and is now staring at me like I have three heads.

My toes curl in my clunky black shoes. I try to stare down those that are glaring at me, trying to tell myself that I was right to yell at Chang, after all the hurt she put me through. But my resolve fails and I finally look away from all of them, not knowing what else to do.

Charlie finally moves. He was standing next to Laurence before, but now he strides over as quickly as he can and grabs my forearm. A flash of red hair and suddenly I have Side-Along Apparated into the back room. Before I even have time to collect my thoughts, I find that Charlie is glaring at me too.

"You couldn't have just let me walk back here?" I sputter, feeling the slightly nauseous sensation that pairs itself with unexpected Apparition.

"Skylar. Do you have any idea what you just did?"

"Yelled at someone who deserved it," I murmur, but I don't think that's the right answer.

"She ran out sobbing, Skylar. In _tears_. I thought I had you down, but either that was completely out of character or there's a side of you I don't know." He tilts his head, like a different angle will help him piece the puzzle of me together. "I don't care what she did to you; what _you_ did was incredibly harsh. And you've just freaked out about ninety-nine percent of my customers. The one percent that's neutral is the old, deaf guy sitting in the corner."

"You don't know what she did to me, though!"

"Skylar, I want you to think about what you just did. I mean really think about it."

"But Charlie – !"

Instead of responding, he just presses his lips together and gives me a long, hard stare. It's the coldest I've ever seen his blue eyes go, so I think maybe I should listen to what he's saying.

So I start to think. And as I give the situation an honest analysis, I realize I have no idea what Cho has been through since our graduation. If it was anything like the way I've spent my post-Cedric months, it probably hasn't been easy for her. Maybe she even found and disposed of her own personal Marcus Flint.

Maybe she found herself on the edge, like I did some nights where I drowned myself in memories and then just cried myself to sleep. Maybe she's had a few nights of her own like that.

Remembering those lonely nights is what changes my mind. I get the nerve to meet Charlie's eyes, and I apologize for the millionth time during my employment. And that brow-furrowing stare finally breaks into a crinkly-eyed smile. He immediately begins pushing me towards the door, insisting I'll know what to do now.

x x x

Charlie:

Luckily, I've timed it perfectly. This Cho person is just coming out of the bathroom, wiping her swollen eyes, when I force Skylar back behind the bar. Skylar looks at me nervously, then glances at Cho, who is hurriedly grabbing her wine and turning, hoping to make a clean and quiet getaway.

Skylar stops Cho, touching her shoulder. "Wait."

Cho turns wordlessly, clearly afraid of what Skylar will say next.

"I'm… sorry."

I hide a smile, seeing that they're both equally surprised by the words coming out of Skylar's mouth.

"It was wrong. I was upset, and the memories are still fresh in my head." Skylar meets Cho's gaze with her own, strong and unwavering. "I'm sure you know what I mean."

Cho responds with a hesitant nod, then rethinks it and opens her mouth. "I miss him, Skylar. But I know it must be hard for you, too. I shouldn't have brought him up in the first place. I wish you'd forgive me."

Skylar nods right back. They don't smile, because I think they're always going to be enemies, having fought over the love of the same boy all those months ago. But I think they've reached an agreement of sorts, an understanding of this mutual pain they bear. So as Cho takes a firmer hold on her wine and leaves, letting the snow blow in again as she does, I realize that Skylar didn't do such a bad job, to be honest.

And then I get my mop.


	11. Beholder

**A/N: This character has been in mind for some time, but I wasn't sure how to incorporate her. Hope you enjoy it, pottersweetie. :)**

Charlie:

She's platinum blonde, with legs a mile long and fierce eyes to match. When she walks into my bar that night, every head swivels to face her, soaking her in. It doesn't take me long to realize the reason behind this strange attraction.

There's no other answer. She's part Veela. She hides it well, appearing just as any other human as she sits at the bar and asks a dumbstruck Tommy for a drink, but I can see it in her. I'm good at seeing that sort of thing straightaway.

Merlin, she's just so _beautiful_.

x x x

Skylar:

Yeah, I recognize her. I mean, how could I forget? The Tri/Quadwizard Tournament. Fleur Delacour. I don't think anyone could forget. Especially not when she looks like _that_.

She has the whole bar in an uproar around her, and she barely even notices. I look up from cleaning tables to see even faithful Laurence momentarily distracted from his girlfriend. Tommy, who's forgetful to begin with, seems to have no idea where the drink Fleur's requesting is stored. I abandon my table with a sigh, deciding to help.

"What does she want, Tommy?" I ask, swinging back behind the bar next to my coworker.

"S-single-malt wh-whisky," he stutters back at me, a ridiculous smile stretching out his face from side to side. I spare him a smile and give the boy a gentle push towards the back.

"Go stick your head in a bucket of water or something. I'll take care of it."

"Th-thanks, Skylar." The silly grin remains, but he manages to find his way out in any case.

Apparently impervious to this girl's unearthly beauty, I nonchalantly pour a glass of whisky and slide it across the bar to her. She accepts it with a surprisingly nervous smile and an almost inaudible, "_Merci_."

I take pity and lean in on my elbows, cocking my head to one side. "Are you okay?" I question.

She doesn't look up, but her eyes twitch slightly. "I just… I hate this part." A French accent twists the words around her tongue.

"What part?"

"The part where I sit at the bar alone and everyone stares."

"Ah." I twist my mouth wryly. "I can't say I know how you feel."

She grins a bit more. "I'm sorry… I don't mean to…"

I wave my hand carelessly. "It's fine. I can imagine that it's hard. I can imagine that you don't want… you don't want to be alone. Alone but watched." A sigh escapes from between my lips. "No one does."

Fleur doesn't respond after that, other than another small smile and a muttered "_Oui_." I go off to take care of other customers and don't give her another thought… at least not until Charlie comes out of the back room.

He seems instantly drawn to her, like every other male in the room. But unlike the others, he approaches her.

"Are you Miss Delacour?" he asks her, sauntering up with a patented Charlie grin.

"Uh, _oui_?"

"I remember you – the Beauxbatons champion of the Triwizard Tournament."

She takes a bigger gulp of the single-malt. "I don't really like to recall that…"

"Right, right, I'm sorry." She finishes the drink and tries to hand the money to Charlie, but he won't take it. He just keeps smiling. "It's fine, Miss Delacour, it's on the house tonight."

"The house?"

"Free."

At this point Tommy comes over and tells me to finish up with the tables while business has momentarily slowed down, so I find myself out of earshot. But it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Charlie is hitting on her.

Merlin, for all his talk of Kath, what is _this_ supposed to be? Flirting with some innocent French girl? Just because she's pretty?

_Why does it matter to you?_ a voice in my head inquires snidely.

_It doesn't,_ I reply firmly. _It's just that she's probably waiting for someone._

And right on cue, someone walks through the door – in the impossible, ironic form of Viktor Krum. Tall, strong, and Bulgarian, he silences the room with his very presence, stalking across the room with an atmosphere surrounding him that Cornelius Fudge would kill for. Charlie, still enraptured with Delacour's company, doesn't seem to see him come in. But Fleur does, and (I notice with a hint of glee), she turns to him immediately.

"Viktor! You're late!"

"I know, I apologize." He sits down next to her, casting my redheaded boss a glare, who in turn looks a bit put off.

"Would you like something to drink?" Charlie asks him meekly.

"Water." He smirks and looks away, his gaze resting fully on Fleur. The French girl finally seems at ease, her expression instantly relaxing as she basks in the familiarity of her companion.

Looking deflated, Charlie returns to his rightful place behind the bar, but I'm suddenly feeling irritated and in no mood to talk with him. I sneak into the back room and have just begun pretending to look for something when I hear his footsteps follow me in.

"Skylar?"

"Yes." I don't bother turning around.

"I'm…" He heaves a great sigh. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"See what?"

"Me blatantly hitting on a taken Fleur Delacour."

I laugh shortly. "Oh, that. Haha, it's fine, Charlie. It's cute."

"No, it's not. It's horrible." He sits down on a barrel in the corner of the room, and I suddenly get the feeling he's apologizing more to himself than to me. "It's just that I haven't done that in the longest time. Care only because of looks."

When I don't say anything, he keeps going. "With me, it's always been more than that. I have to get to know the girl first, it has to be the personality, the spirit, the witty words and the fiery comebacks that draw me in. It's just been so long since Kath…" He trails off wistfully, my heart melts, and I finally turn around.

"Charlie, we all have the moments in which we forget. We act like people who aren't us, and we make mistakes, and we think things…" Merlin, I can't even tell him how much experience I'm speaking from. "You're over-thinking this. Fleur is just another pretty face, and she stood out for that reason. But the point is that Viktor came and you didn't do anything wrong."

He hangs his head and I wonder if he was even listening. "She would hate who I've become."

"Charlie bloody Weasley. You're an amazing guy, and I know for a fact that if Kath was standing here now, she'd feel the same way she did back then." Of course I don't know this for a fact, having never met the girl, but it doesn't seem like anyone could ever feel badly towards Charlie Weasley.

"Now get out there and serve someone a bloody rum."

He looks up then, and flashes me that Weasley grin as he jumps off the barrel and walks back out. For a moment I just sit there and laugh to myself, because of how reversed our roles were in that moment, and then I realize I should be helping him. So I run back out, leaving the empty room behind.

**A/N: I forget whether it's the next chapter, or the one after, or maybe both – but either way things are going to get shaken up a bit. :D Just a heads up!**


	12. Intrusion

**A/N: I'm really sorry about how long this took - summer's been a bit crazy so far, but I think you can go back to expecting regular updates. At least for now. Enjoy!**

Skylar:

However much I try to ignore it, Christmas is approaching faster and faster.

And I know I'm going to be alone.

x x x

It's December 20th. Charlie has already told me I get the next week or so off, so I've decided to just go home and mope, since tonight's the last night. Tommy left thirty minutes ago, leaving me and my boss alone to clean and lock up.

"So, Skylar, what're your plans for the holidays?" Charlie asks me casually.

I bite my lip, wondering what he's getting at. He's already met my mother; he knows I'm not staying with my family. And Cedric's… gone. I don't have anyone else.

"Oh, I don't know." I try to smile. "I'll probably catch up with some friends."

x x x

Charlie:

The sad thing is I can tell she's lying, even though it's often hard to read her. I guess her defenses lower around times like these, when everyone else that loves each other comes together. I can understand why, I really can.

But I don't _want_ her to be alone. I don't want to think of her on Christmas morning, sitting in an empty room. I want her to be laughing and talking and… happy.

"Skylar, I –"

He breaks down the door at that moment.

x x x

Skylar:

After the initial shock, I realize I recognize him. And that just shocks me even more. I served him my first night on this job. I remembered glancing at his greasy hair and observing that he looked like my old Potions teacher.

And now he's back. Charging towards the place he must've seen me put his money.

We're being robbed?!

I grab my wand from the pocket of my jeans. I rarely use it anymore; but at this moment it feels warm and solid in my hand – oddly comforting.

"Charlie, where's your wand?" I didn't think to lock our money up securely just yet; the man will be able to get inside with nothing more than _Alohomora_.

Charlie scrabbles for it in his pockets, then glances over at me, scared. Of course! Since he always does things the Muggle way, he left it in its usual spot.

Next to the cash box.

"Looking for this?" The Snape lookalike turns around, dangling Charlie's wand in one hand and a sack of Galleons in the other. "Now, which one do you want more?" he asks mockingly, although he looks like he's prepared to dash off with both.

I look over at Charlie, trying to analyze his expression. He looks just as shocked as I am – all this has happened in under ninety seconds, and it's too much excitement for the both of us so late at night.

I know that this is up to me. He's wandless, and though he has a fierce punch, it won't do him much good here.

My next paycheck's in that bag, but I remember something else. I remember Charlie once telling me that everything in the Weasley family has been given around. That wand in Wannabe-Snape's hand probably has a story behind it. And it strikes me that someday, I'd really like to have Charlie tell me that story.

I know what to do.

x x x

Charlie:

It's odd, how the tensest, most dramatic moments of your life always seem to go in slow motion. Skylar's face is set in the most determined expression I've ever seen on her – ever. She's more alive at this moment than I think she's ever been. I look on, a powerless spectator as she outstretches her wand arm, shouts, "_Expelliarmus!_" My wand soars in an arc from the robber's hand to hers.

Clearly confused, as he did not expect her to make that choice, the intruder (who looks oddly like the old Potions master, Snape) sprints wildly for the door. He almost makes it, too. But I see a playful smirk make its way onto Skylar's face, and suddenly he's tripping face-first over an invisible rope. Galleons spill out of the bag, clattering across the floor.

I didn't even hear her speak the incantation that time. Come to think of it, I don't even think I _know_ that spell, whatever it is.

She draws herself up again, breathing hard, looking the happiest that she has ever since I hired her. Where has she been hiding this part of herself?

This Skylar is honest-to-Merlin _alive_.

x x x

Skylar:

The authorities have come and gone. Charlie called them after I'd managed to tie up the robber with a spell I hadn't used since my seventh-year Charms class. Charlie was the one that told them the story, and he told it like it happened. He almost seemed to be weirdly in awe of me – the officer, too, looked skeptical, like he didn't think a pale, wispy girl like me could have stopped a coldblooded criminal like the one who was grimacing over in the corner. Though, in retrospect, that was more or less what happened. And how invigorating it was.

They eventually leave though, taking the Snape-looking bloke with them and leaving us to clean up the mess of Galleons. I walk over and give Charlie back his wand, something I hadn't had a chance to do till now.

The wand hovers a moment in an odd sort of suspension, his hand and mine clasping it at once.

"Thanks," he says, breaking the silence.

"No problem," is my response. I release my grip on his wand and retrieve one of the many Galleons. "To be honest it was kind of… fun. I haven't done anything like that in a while."

"It was bloody amazing watching you, to be honest," Charlie admits. "You're never that determined when you're pouring drinks."

I giggle in spite of myself. "My day-to-day work at a bar's a bit different than capturing a criminal, Charlie."

"Is it?"

We go around picking up the Galleons in silence for a few more minutes, until finally there's only one sparkling gold piece left. I reach down underneath the chair, grab it, and hand it over to Charlie, the metal making a satisfying clinking noise against the others in the bag.

"You know, I could just give you your paycheck now. You'll probably need it for Christmas gifts, won't you?"

"Oh… yeah, I guess I will." I wish he'd stop bringing Christmas up like this. It hurts more than I'd like to say, or think about.

x x x

Charlie:

I know it's now or never, at this point. After tonight the bar will be closed, and I don't know where she goes when she's not here. So I should ask her now.

I take a deep breath. "Skylar, I don't know if you already have plans, but would you like to come and celebrate Christmas with my family? We're loud and partially insane, and there'll be people even I don't know, but… I really want you to come. Will you go with me?"


	13. Misunderstanding

**A/N: Obviously I messed around a bit with the OotP plotlines to get this chapter to work; hope nobody minds.**

Skylar:

"Mum! We're here!"

My first impression of the Weasley family is that they're extremely loud. Charlie sets down our bags and is instantly attacked by a stout, red-haired woman, a young girl, and the twins. Complete chaos ensues and I can't help but laugh at it all.

Charlie and I decided to Floo to the Burrow the day after the robbery. Of course there was no way I would've turned down the chance to spend Christmas with a real family. Seeing them all now, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"Oh, Charlie, you've lost weight, look at you. We need to get some more meat on those bones straightaway," his mother informs him before turning to me with a smile. "Charlie mentioned he'd be bringing someone. What's your name, dear?"

I offer my politest smile. "Skylar Clark, ma'am."

She leans over and pats my cheek. "Well, aren't you darling." She then goes on to inform me that I'm much too skinny and could do with eating several of her mincemeat pies, until Charlie pulls me away with a loud "Mum!"

"I'm sorry, Skylar, she's a bit batty about the weight thing," he informs me as we leave the group and head upstairs with our bags.

"It's fine," I laugh, feeling at ease for the first time in forever. "Now where am I sleeping?"

"Well, Mum has this rule about girls and blokes sharing a room." He rolls his eyes. "You know how that goes. But anyway, that means you'll be bunking with my sister Ginny and one of my brother's friends, Hermione Granger."

I stiffen. "Hermione? But that must mean…"

As if on cue, Harry Potter pops out of one of the rooms at the end of the hallway, closely followed by his two friends. They look impossibly happy, laughing at some bad joke the redhead just told. They stop when they see me, though, and come to a halt in front of us.

Harry juts out his hand. "Skylar Clark. It's been a while."

No kidding. I haven't seen Harry Potter since Cedric died, and he came to offer his condolences to me in the hospital wing.

It was really wonderful of him to do that.

I smile and shake his hand. "Nice to see you again, Harry."

Hermione comes forward eagerly. "Hi, Skylar! I don't know if we've really officially met, but I guess if we're in the same room and all I should introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger –"

"And I'm Ron. But I reckon my brother's already told you all about me."

Charlie rolls his eyes dramatically. "Right, Ron, right."

"Well, we're just going downstairs," Ron says, a bit huffily, as the trio starts to walk again. "Mum's making dinner and we're seeing if we can sneak some food."

"Fred and George already beat you to it!" Charlie calls as they leave, then chuckles. "Sorry, I didn't expect them to all just show up out of nowhere… Oh, and here's your room!"

It's already crowded with clothes and mattresses and the like, but it brings back memories of a Hogwarts dorm room, and I feel strangely at home. I plop down on the only bare cot, claiming it as my own.

Charlie sets my bags down next to the door. "Good. I'll let you unpack. Dinner's in… well, just listen for Mum's yell and you'll know."

x x x

Charlie:

Forty-five minutes later, we're all seated around the dinner table. I'm next to Skylar, of course, being the only one she really knows. Everyone goes around and introduces themselves for her sake, though, which is nice.

As Mum promised, we're digging into some mincemeat pie at the moment. Fred has the table's attention in a crazy story about something that happened at school recently. Of course he's exaggerating half of it, and George is only helping it along, but we're enjoying it and that's what counts.

But suddenly the story is over and Mum speaks up.

"So, Charlie, how did you and Skylar meet?"

"She's one of my employees. She used to come in a lot so one day I just decided to hire her."

"That's so sweet!" Hermione throws in.

"Was it love at first sight?" Ginny asks.

Skylar drops her fork with a painfully loud clatter.

"Wh-what?" I say, startled.

"Was it _love at first sight_?" my idiot sister persists.

"Uh, love…?"

"Please, Charlie, you can't invite a girl home for Christmas and try to hide the fact that there's something going on," Mum laughs.

"That's what Ron did!" I exclaim. Hermione blushes and lowers her head. Ron's about to argue, but Harry elbows him and he silences. Obviously now isn't the time.

"Excuse me," Skylar mutters, quietly pushing back her chair and leaving the table.

I can't believe my family at this moment, all looking at me expectantly, like I'm about to spill the beans.

"Are you two getting married? Oh, this is so romantic! My little Charlie's all grown up!" Mum's practically beside herself with joy.

I can't take it anymore. I lurch upwards, accidentally hitting the table, slopping gravy onto the tablecloth. "Skylar's my _employee_, Mum, and there's nothing going on between us! She had nowhere else to go for Christmas!"

All the girls at the table look a bit crestfallen, as they had all been a bit excited about this non-existent relationship. The men just carry on eating, like they couldn't care either way.

"And now that you upset her, I'm going to have to go and find her." I leave the table in a huff, but my stomping isn't loud enough to block out the quiet "He really likes her!" from my sister.

"Ginny! Shove it!"

"Sorry, Charlie!"

x x x

Skylar:

After I leave, I stop just outside the dining room door, to hear how the rest of the scene plays out.

"_Skylar's my employee, Mum, and there's nothing going on between us! She had nowhere else to go for Christmas!"_

I suck in my breath. I wish I wasn't so transparent. I can understand Charlie's anger, but did he really have to inform the whole table about how pathetic I am? And did he have to be so… adamant?

Not that there is anything going on between us at all, it's just the way he said it.

Charlie bursts out a second later, looking severely irritated. I lurch forward and pretend I wasn't listening. His eyes soften when they land on me.

"Look, Skylar, I'm really sorry about all this…"

I laugh, but the sound is oddly fake and magnified in my ears. "It's fine. I know how mothers can be."

"I hope you mean completely ridiculous. I mean, my mother is always dreaming up these crazy scenarios, but the fact that she honestly thought there was something going on –"

"Right, Charlie, okay, I think the whole world gets it by now!"

He stops mid-sentence and stares at me. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing's up, Charlie, everything's fine. The whole of your family and friends probably thinks I'm a poor little orphan girl without a friend in the world, who is not under any circumstances romantically involved with you at all, because you'd obviously rather die, but whatever! I'm fine. Actually, I'm so fine I think I'll just go to bed!"

And with that I spin on my heel and leave him standing there in the hallway, alone.


End file.
